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But with him, there was always more. And I wanted to know how far we could take that.
What kind of more we could find together.
As I came down from the high, I wanted to melt into the bed, but the pulsing throb continued, so much longer than I expected. And he whispered me through it, slowly stroking his hand along my side, kissing across the line of my chest as I tried to catch my breath.
He told me I was beautiful when I came.
That he’d imagined it a thousand times while he was gone.
As I came down from that first crest, I realized that it had hardly even taken the edge off, probably because it was him.
I wanted every day with him. Every night. All the hours and minutes and seconds in between.
My arms wrapped around his back, and he took my mouth in a fierce kiss as he rocked against me.
My hand tracked down his chest, intent on the same torture move he’d used on me. I brushed the backs of my fingers along his abs, following the thin line of dark hair until my hand got to where I wanted it. Where he wanted it too, based on the tight clench of his teeth, the muttered curse torn from his mouth when I trailed my finger over the tip of him, soft and teasing.
Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
I was certain my touch was light enough that he wouldn’t be able to come that way, but there was a dark rush of pleasure in seeing what it reduced him to. How it strained the muscles in his shoulders and jaw while he worked to keep control.
“Charlotte,” he warned.
I nipped at his chin. “Not so fun when someone does it to you, is it?” I whispered.
His hand gripped my thigh, wrenching it up against his side, and with a grin, I mirrored its position with the other one. Burke snatched my hands away and took both wrists in his tight grasp, holding them down on the bed over my head. I was helpless so quickly, and I arched my back as he kissed me.
He settled his hips between mine, teasing me with a few rocking motions that had my toes curling.
I was begging again—loudly, desperately—and I didn’t care.
Burke’s gaze locked on to mine as he pushed inside.
Oh, he was big. So hard. And I didn’t care if it hurt—I wanted all of him. I tried to rock my hips along with his movements, and he bit out a curse, telling me to stop unless I wanted it to be over before it started. I tried to keep my eyes from rolling back into my head—the sensation of fullness was almost too much, just shy of painful, even though I was more than ready for him.
He made slow, shallow thrusts, never moving his eyes from mine, until he was fully seated. Then his eyes fluttered closed, his mouth falling open on a soft gust of air.
I wanted this moment frozen forever. Wanted to snap a picture of him and stare at it for the rest of my life.
He was perfect. And he was mine.
Burke’s eyes opened. “Ready?” he asked.
He didn’t wait for an answer, simply slid his hips back and snapped forward.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I was moaning with each one, the friction of his body against mine starting that slow, delicious build again.
He muttered filthy things against the skin of my shoulder, stopping only when he locked his mouth on to mine and unleashed months of pent-up sexual tension and who knows what else.
The snap of his hips was relentless, hard and punishing.
There wasn’t finesse in this slap of skin, our tongues tangled and our breaths hot against each other’s mouths. His teeth clacked against mine on a particularly brutal drive of his hips, and I sobbed something incoherent.
